Flowers in Graveyards
by Remarkable L
Summary: Smiles aren't betrayals. Not when they have worth.


Heuco Mundo was empty. That's all there was to it. It was a desert that stretched out endlessly, filled with rocks, with sand. If one hadn't been in a desert, then they'd never have known it's beauty.

It _was_ beautiful, though. It was beautiful in that it was always changing: like the waves on the beach, etching the shore into new shapes, the wind here perpetually moves the dunes of sand. It was in constant motion and change, no matter how terrifying, is wonderful.

All things change. All things _must_ change - it's manditory. If things were to stop changing, it would be a sign that something was wrong with the universe. Life needs to change - just as life needs death, to make it precious.

On one of her first nights here, lonely and scared and wishing for home, he had brought her something. It was a pot. A flower pot. Just one. He had set it on the table there in front of the window, had looked at it..._wistfully_, one could almost say, before leaving her to her own devices.

It is not the sort of thing that most would expect a man like him to do, but..

It grew. It lived. Mind you, what grew looked remarkably sad and pathetic, to be honest: just one single, thin, almost _dead_ looking stick out of the pot. She wondered what it was. Anyone else would. What was it supposed to mean? What was he trying to tell her - that the only thing that could grow here were sad mockeries of life?

Aizen is such a cruel man to her. So harsh, so unkind, so mocking.

How long had she been here? She didn't know. It was impossible to tell. Days had turned into weeks into months. It felt like she'd been here forever. When she slept, she dreamed of being anywhere but here, anywhere but this place where there's no color, no change, no break in the monotony.

As she slept, he woke her. She knew, instantly, that _someone_ was there; a pale of long, warm fingers had wrapped around her shoulders and for a moment, her heart had risen up in her chest because he's there, he's there to save her, everything is going to be fine.

Then she opened her eyes, and it wasn't him. It wasn't her savior, but her captor, sitting on the edge of her bed, with his profile there for her to see; aristocratic and horrible and handsome. He wasn't looking at her, but his fingers tightened again on her shoulder, so very gently, minutely, just skin on skin, soft rasp from callouses.

"_Hime.._" he said it again. Perhaps she'd heard it the first time in her sleep, because somehow, she _knew_ this wasn't the first time he said it. "_Look_." In the quiet of the room, his voice wasn't just quiet, it was a whisper, some benediction.

She sat up, eyes following his gaze, and...

There was a flower in her room. Orihime loved flowers, had seen a lot, but never a flower like this. Out of that thin, dead stick, was a brilliant, huge bloom, white as the moon, save for stamens, so remarkably yellow gold that they are like the sun.

It was absolutely beautiful, this flower, enough that it made her cry. But...why? When she turned her eyes up at him, glass bright and wet, he was looking right at her, anticipating...only to see her cry.

His own features changed. They did not grow cruel and they did not grow unkind. They softened, but downwards, not upwards, not into a look of content, but the very opposite. The hand at her shoulder rose and even though she _knew_ she should be afraid of his man, she coudn't draw herself away from his hand, from the stroke of his thumb that cut a swath through her tears.

"_I only have this one night,_" he told her, head tipping a bit towards the bloom. "_Just one night, Orihime. That is all I can give you - it won't bloom for another year. Will you make me wait that long?_"

He leaned in, so close - so _dangerously_ close, until she could feel his breath, smell it - like tea and heat. His eyes though, they were on her own, searching, looking...

"_Won't you smile for me, Orihime? Just once. Just for tonight..? Even if the smile isn't _for _me?_"

And then, she hated him. Because he had gone and done this, went and gave her something beautiful, just _for her_. Even if he had selfish reasons behind it, he had brought her a flower, something wonderful in this place where a flower doesn't belong and she _liked_ flowers, and why did he have to do this for her?

For a moment, she turned her head, to look at the flower again; she could feel the tip of his nose brush her cheek; it wasn't as sharp as it looked. Her eyes studied the flower, took it in. The bloom was so big, so wonderfully white, and in a way, she knew it fit this place. White, just like everything else...but _unlike_ everything else? It didn't look sad at all.

One night. Just one smile. That was why she hated him: _he'd given her something to smile about._

Her eyes turned back to him, her head pulling back just a bit..and she smiled. There, then, just for him, she smiled. One little smile wasn't a betrayal - not when he'd done something nice for her, perhaps to make her feel better.

"_Thank you, Aizen-sama. It's beautiful._"

When she smiled, he ate it, devoured it, locked it deep in the steel trap of his mind. Past all the perversions, all the cruel thoughts, there was still a place in his mind for things like that. His fingers slid down, brushed across that smile, as if he could memorize it through touch alone. Would he be able to transfer that memory to his lips, later? Maybe.

Just maybe.

"_You're welcome, Orhime. You're welcome._"


End file.
